2012 Les Miserables
tion of iron was approaching. There arose a tremor in the
bosoms of these peaceful old streets, pierced and built for
the fertile circulation of interests and ideas, and which are
not made for the horrible rumble of the wheels of war.
The fixity of eye in all the combatants upon the extrem-
ity of the street became ferocious.
A cannon made its appearance.
Artillery-men were pushing the piece; it was in firing
trim; the fore-carriage had been detached; two upheld the
gun-carriage, four were at the wheels; others followed with
the caisson. They could see the smoke of the burning lint-
stock.
‘Fire!’ shouted Enjolras.
The whole barricade fired, the report was terrible; an
avalanche of smoke covered and effaced both cannon and
men; after a few seconds, the cloud dispersed, and the can-
non and men re-appeared; the gun-crew had just finished
rolling it slowly, correctly, without haste, into position fac-
ing the barricade. Not one of them had been struck. Then
the captain of the piece, bearing down upon the breech in
order to raise the muzzle, began to point the cannon with
the gravity of an astronomer levelling a telescope.
‘Bravo for the cannoneers!’ cried Bossuet.
And the whole barricade clapped their hands.
A moment later, squarely planted in the very middle of
the street, astride of the gutter, the piece was ready for ac-
tion. A formidable pair of jaws yawned on the barricade.
‘Come, merrily now!’ ejaculated Courfeyrac. ‘That’s the
brutal part of it. After the fillip on the nose, the blow from